Integration by Parts
by wneleh
Summary: Rodney breaks through Fortress Sheppard. With Math. A McShep HS AU, written for the 2011 McShep Match, team McKay.  Thanks go to Zelempa for the excellent, rapid beta and discussion. All remaining errors are my own.


Integration by Parts

by Helen W.

It wasn't until second period math on Wednesday that Rodney started to worry about John Sheppard and Chapter 9 (Techniques of Integration).

Lots of kids missed days of school here and there, between all the bugs going around, trips to visit colleges, and plain old senioritis. Even Rodney had missed several days that year, once due to an allergic reaction and another time when he'd been sure he'd contracted the flu (H3N2, to be precise) from a sneezing toddler at McDonald's.

But missing three days in a row of AP Calculus - BC, no less - was a very bad idea, especially now that they were getting into the meat of integration. This stuff was **hard**, even for Rodney; the year before, he'd tried to teach himself calculus out of the book (pre-calc being a snooze-fest), and this chapter, and especially integration by parts, had been where the whole enterprise had gone off the rails. And if it gave (well, had given) Rodney trouble, then John was going to be sunk if he got even a little behind.

When Rodney commented on John's absence to Carson Beckett, the exchange student sighed and said, "Aye, he might appreciate a call, at that."

"I tried his house last night and got no answer," said Teyla. "I will try again tonight, but a call from you would be a nice gesture."

Rodney didn't call John that evening, though, because what was there to say, besides "Get your butt back in school"?

Thursday John was missing again. When Rodney asked whether anybody knew when he would bother to grace them with his presence, Teyla said, "I am sure he will be back when he is ready." Then Jennifer started to cry onto Elizabeth's shoulder for some reason, and Rodney fled.

As they headed out the door, Radek whispered, "Good going, Rodney, you have broken our genius Freshman. Again."

"What did I do?" Rodney asked, perplexed as usual at times like these. If Radek had an answer, though, Rodney didn't catch it before Radek was swept away into the Language Arts hall.

Rodney had planned to ask Miko during lunch period if she knew what was up with John Sheppard - Rodney and Miko were doing a Pascal self-study together, and hoped to convince Ms. Cadman to let them take the AP Computer Science test in May - but Miko seemed sad and distracted, and Rodney became afraid that moving the conversation into the personal would be opening a can of worms. One crying girl that morning had been more than enough.

If John had been in school, Rodney would have tracked him down and complained about how weird everyone was being, and John would have said something droll and maybe a little bit brilliant, and everything would have felt okay again. But, apparently, that wasn't going to be happening.

The weather was good, so Rodney decided to bike around a bit after school, and found himself passing John's place. There were a couple of lights on, but most of the vast house was dark. It looked cold and lonely, and Rodney biked the three miles home quickly.

Friday Rodney didn't bother to ask about John, instead cracking his locker combo after school to see what there was to see. A sweat shirt, a worn pair of Reeboks, and a stack of books and notebooks. Most of these weren't important, of course, but wherever John was, whatever he was doing, he really should have had his math and physics books with him, so Rodney grabbed them and the associated notebooks (John wasn't into labeling, but the contents were easy enough to figure out) and stuffed them into his own backpack.

The weather had taken a turn colder, and Rodney was glad John only lived a mile or so from school.

On the second ring, Mr. Sheppard opened the door. He looked tired and Rodney wondered if he had a touch of whatever was keeping John home. When Rodney explained that he had John's schoolwork, Mr. Sheppard seemed confused. "He's excused from all classwork until February at least," he said.

"Well that's… very strange," said Rodney, "but, really, beside the point. You can't simply NOT go to math class; and I have his physics too, though that's not as big a deal."

Mr. Sheppard shook his head. "We'll just have to…"

"Is he home, at least?" Rodney pressed. "Can I talk to him?"

"John's not…"

But John was now at the top of the broad double-stairway visible from the front door, in torn jeans and a t-shirt. "There you are," said Rodney. "I've come to teach you integration by parts."

"What?" asked Mr. Sheppard.

"Integration by parts. How to do integrals more complex than f-prime-of-x-dx. It should only take a couple of hours."

John and his father exchanged a glance, then John beckoned him upstairs.

Not surprisingly, John's bedroom was a bit bigger than Rodney's; he even had a table and a couple of chairs, which were oddly clear of junk. Come to think, the whole room was unnaturally clean. Either John had issues Rodney didn't know about or the family had people who picked up after them.

Rodney pulled John's stuff out of his backpack and plopped it onto John's table, then sat. "Well, come on," he said.

"You're really here to do math?" John asked.

"We could start with the physics, if you want," said Rodney.

"No, math is fine."

"Okay," said Rodney, grabbing several sheets of lined paper from his own binder and starting to write. "You know how the derivative of f-of-x time g-of-x is equal to the derivative of f-of-x times g plus the derivative of g-of-x times f? Well…"

Rodney spent ten minutes laying out the groundwork for what Mr. Woolsey had covered on Monday and Tuesday, then flipped to the exercises in the back of the section. "Now, do the first five odd problems."

"Um…" John wrote down the first one, then stared at it. "I think you lost me."

"That's impossible," said Rodney. "Everything falls out of the product rule and the fundamental theory of calculus."

"Yeah… I don't think I really got those."

"You didn't get the PRODUCT RULE?"

"Yeah. Or the fundamental thing."

"What, you turned off your brain a month ago?" Rodney knew John had had a high B average through November, but hadn't seen his most recent tests. "Never mind, never mind, alright, this is bad, but repairable…"

Without them having to do anything to make it happen, Mr. Sheppard sent in a pizza (a meatlovers, no less) after several hours, so they took a break. His mouth around a slice, John asked, "Okay, not to be nosy, but why are you here?"

That was simple. "Didn't you hear what I told your dad?" Rodney asked. "You can't just miss a week of calculus, no matter how smart you are; and you're no genius anyhow."

John smiled a little, even though Rodney realized he could have put that better. "I know," said John. "But it's not like I need this class to graduate. I can always drop down to AB calc. And, why do you care, anyway?"

"Because it's math. Because…" Rodney stopped. There was no real reason, he realized; this was simply something he could do. Sure, he wouldn't do this for everyone - it wasn't as if he monitored the performance of every member of the class of 1985, in every section of every math class. But just last week he'd helped Elizabeth teach her foster-brother Ronon how to plot a line, and he sometimes let Evan Lorne bounce his BASIC assignments off him. Other kids also asked him for help pretty frequently, and if he had time he'd see what he could do.

And John was worth as much effort as anyone else. Maybe more.

John still had that grin, and Rodney wasn't sure he wasn't laughing at him. But John said, "You know, this might be the nicest single thing anyone has ever done for me."

Rodney again didn't know how to respond.

When John moved his chair so that they were on the same side of the table, Rodney figured he must be getting tired of trying to read Rodney's writing upside-down.

Rodney didn't realize his 11 p.m. curfew was approaching until it was almost too late. As he threw his own books into his backpack, John made a crack about not forgetting a glass slipper.

"Doesn't matter, I'll be back tomorrow. You still have a lot to do before you're caught up to where you should have been on Monday."

John looked away, but Rodney couldn't figure out what at. "Tomorrow afternoon's going to be pretty crazy here," John said.

"Your parents are having a party, or something?"

"Or something."

"Then I'll aim for 10 a.m. Be ready."

Rodney's father was standing at the front door with his watch out as Rodney pedaled up the driveway, and looked disappointed when Rodney simply flung his bike into the back yard and was in the house at 10:59:43. "If your bike disappears overnight, I'm not buying you a new one," he said.

A half-dozen responses raced through Rodney's mind - failing to come up with snappy comebacks had never been one of Rodney's problems - but he'd learned that, at least around his family, it was often best to just keep his mouth closed. And sometimes he even managed to.

The next morning, Rodney woke before dawn and speed-read the last eighty pages of _Billy Budd_, then raced through a couple of French grammar review worksheets. Most Saturdays, he'd then have knocked off his Pascal coding before heading downtown to work the backlog at Peter Kavanaugh's HiTek Repair, or maybe taken Jeanie to a kiddie movie (she was his cover - he loved kiddie movies). But Pete, the programming, and his kid sister could all wait.

John met him at the front door with coffee and a box of doughnuts; five minutes later, they were working their way through the trickier parts of Chapter 8 (Integrals of Special Functions). John seemed, if anything, more focused then he had the day before. By noon, Rodney decided they were finally ready for Chapter 9.

"This is where integration gets really interesting," said Rodney. "Once we learn this, I think we can integrate anything."

"Just in case there's an integration emergency," said John.

Rodney put down his pencil and glowered. "Don't tell me I need to give you a pep talk about how calculus is the doorway to all higher math, physics, and engineering. Because I read eighty pages of Melville this morning. God knows what might come out of my mouth."

"Don't worry," said John, "I'm sure that if the fate of the world ever hung on a couple of seniors finding the area under a curve, it'd be an interesting curve."

"Damn right," said Rodney. "Seriously, John, the next couple of sections are about how to tackle big functions by breaking them down into more manageable parts. I tried to teach it to myself last year, but I just couldn't figure out the right substitutions. It's a challenge. There's art to it, and some intuition that I don't even have yet. But I think it's worth learning."

"More manageable?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's get going."

Soon, though, the house started to get busy. There seemed to be vehicles coming and going, and multiple, overlapping voices could be heard from downstairs.

Rodney was about to suggest that they try to find a more soundproof room when John's younger brother, Mark, ducked his head in and said that their father wanted John dressed ASAP. John waved him away, but five minutes later, the message was delivered again, this time by Evan Lorne, who was dressed in an awful-fitting dark green suit that had probably been sized for a prom two or three inches ago.

Evan nodded at Rodney, then gave John a quick, awkward side-hug where he sat. "We've all been thinking about you," he said. "Most of the guys will be here, but they wanted me to pass along their condolences anyway if I saw you first."

Condolences?

"I don't understand," said Rodney. "Who…?"

"My mom," said John. He quickly pushed back from the table, grabbed a suit from the inside of his closet door, and fled into his bathroom.

Rodney turned to Evan. "He didn't say a thing. We've - we've been doing math homework."

"He hasn't been taking anyone's calls," said Evan. "I can't tell you how glad I am that he's been talking to you."

Rodney followed Evan down the back stairs to extract more information. John's mother, it seemed, had been sick for years, but she'd been more-or-less stable until mid-December. She'd started to decline rapidly the previous weekend, and Wednesday night she'd died. Burial would be after a private ceremony on Monday; today was the wake.

"It's insane you didn't know all this," said Evan. "EVERYBODY knows all about it. FOR YEARS everyone's known she was dying. Nobody talked about anything else all week at school."

"I - um…"

"Her death was in the morning announcements on Thursday."

Had it been? "They explicitly said, John Sheppard's mom died last night?"

"There was a moment of silence. What did you think it was for?"

"I didn't notice..."

At the bottom of the stairs they ran straight into Ronon Dex. Even after working with him off and on as Ronon tried to make up for years of spotty school attendance, Rodney still thought he was scary. But if Ronon was there, then Elizabeth probably was too, and that was never a bad thing.

"Look who I found," said Evan. "Meredith Rodney broke though Fortress Sheppard! With Math!"

"Hey, good for you!" said Ronon, clapping him on the back. Rodney coughed and got away as quickly as he could, while he still had both lungs.

While they'd been working, the downstairs of John's house had been converted to an imitation funeral home (or maybe funeral homes were imitations of John's house?). There were flowers everywhere, and more chairs than usual, and even a guest book on a pedestal and several displays of pictures. Happy family scenes of growing boys, a graying man, a thinning woman. At least there was no coffin (that Rodney immediately saw, and he wasn't inclined to go looking).

A woman with a harp was setting up in the living room. The several viewings of great-aunts that Rodney had been to hadn't featured live music, but he thought it would work. He was embarrassingly pleased to discover that a heck of a lot of food was also being set out through the home.

Rodney thought maybe he should leave as soon as he grabbed a bite, since he wasn't really dressed for any sort of formal occasion, and he hadn't known Mrs. Sheppard at all. But John hadn't come downstairs yet, and Rodney didn't want to go without saying good-bye.

Then he and Evan got pulled into helping the caterer move a table this way, and then that way, and then back to where it had been in the first place. Then Carson and Teyla showed up, and together they found Elizabeth, who had a question about their French project, which segued into a discussion of some school policy thing she was concerned about (Elizabeth being class president and all), and then Radek and Miko wanted to talk Chess Club, and the whole thing was turning into one of the better parties Rodney had been to since moving to the United States.

At some point Rodney became aware that John was downstairs, standing alone by a potted palm. A girl Rodney didn't know was suddenly hanging off John weeping; Rodney ran over and physically pulled her off him. "Not. Helpful. Go get yourself some punch."

The girl left, and Rodney turned to John. "Are they going to be doing that to you all day?"

"It gets worse," said John. "Kate Heightmeyer just tried to get me to talk about my feelings."

"Maybe we could put some ketchup all over the front of your suit. Then they wouldn't want to touch you, at least."

John looked at him closely. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"You're not planning on using that suit for the prom, are you? And anyway the ketchup would probably come out."

Next it was a bunch of large guys who could have been the football team, or a decent subset at least. Pounding John on the back and generally being loud and if Rodney had been in John's place he'd have lost it, so Rodney squirmed in close to John and said, "I think I disagree with you about R2-D2."

"You what?"

"He was totally a better droid than C-3PO."

Everyone was now looking at Rodney like he was crazy; even John, and Rodney did have to admit that, even for nerd talk, this was really, really lame. But John now nodded, and said, "Just because he could co-pilot an X-wing, he thought he was hot shit. But humanoid beats Dalek wanna-be any day."

"Robots in human form make no sense. Unless you're going to go all the way and make them indistinguishable from us, for some particular purpose. Otherwise it's just vanity."

The football team was now backing away. "Congratulations," said Rodney, "I just ruined your reputation."

"God, Rodney, you're something else," said John, turning and grinding his forehead into Rodney's shoulder for a moment, then straightening.

"I try," said Rodney, deciding he'd better stay close.

People came, people went; all manner of adults (including Mr. Woolsey, and their Physics teacher, Dr. Carter), and a good chunk of the kids Rodney knew. As the afternoon wore on, more and more of the conversation bits Rodney heard were about the snow predicted for that evening, the first decent one of the season. Rodney, being Canadian, of course had to laugh at the silly natives and their snow hysteria; but snow on a bike was a pain (literally; he'd had some spectacular wipe-outs) and he really didn't want be out in it, especially in the dark.

But by the time things were winding down and it seemed safe to leave John's side, flakes were falling, and the ground for once was cold enough that it was actually sticking everywhere from the get-go. "You can't ride your bike home in this," said John's father. "Wait a bit more and I'll see that you get a ride."

But then Rodney, John, and Mark ended up in the basement rec room playing foosball, and by the time Rodney hunted down Mr. Sheppard to take him up on his offer there were a couple of inches on the ground. A quick phone-call home got him permission to spend the night.

Rodney was a little surprised when John suggested they do some more calculus; he was even more surprised when John immediately got the whole guess-the-right-substitution thing you needed to do to integrate by parts. By nine, they were pretty much caught up, and Rodney decided that they could deal with whatever John would miss on Monday later. They then raided the kitchen for leftovers, and when they got back up to John's room someone had put out an air mattress and sheets and such.

Rodney was surprised when John suggested that they make an early night of it, but John was clearly exhausted, so Rodney didn't object.

After lying in the dark for a half-hour, though, Rodney rose and fumbled for a small lamp that he'd spotted earlier, figuring he'd grab a paperback off of John's shelf and read a while. It provided enough illumination to see John's face; a dried tear track ran down his cheek, and it took Rodney's breath away.

John wanted him here. Wanted Rodney in his room, this close, even when he was in so much pain.

Was it because Rodney was safe? Didn't matter as much as Evan, or Ronon, or Elizabeth?

Did it matter if that was the reason?

The only thing Rodney knew for certain was that, at that moment, he'd have done anything to take John's pain away.

It was either very, very late or very, very early when Rodney opened his eyes to find John Sheppard shaking his shoulder. Did he want to talk? That would be horrible, but Rodney would do it, he would. But John said, "Shh, get dressed, we're going sledding."

"In the dark? Without boots?"

"I have an extra pair. Gloves, too. Come on, McKay, the snow's stopped and the moon's out. It's a beautiful night. Come on."

"My mom wouldn't let us have real sleds, but I keep these stashed," said John, pulling a couple of flat plastic trashcan lids out of the shed.

John had been right - it was a beautiful night, and Rodney's standards were high.

The Sheppard property was mostly flat, but a ways away from the house there was a moderate slope, fit for small children and the elderly. They grabbed the pseudo-sleds and headed toward it.

"You're not allowed to sled _this_?" Rodney asked. His father might be a petty tyrant and his mother might be several peanuts short of a Snickers bar, but they'd never, ever put those sorts of limits on him.

"Yeah, well - Mark sledded into that tree down there" - John pointed to a pine that would take a bit of talent to hit - "when he was three, and that was that. As I got older, it just didn't seem worth upsetting anyone."

"You never got caught?"

"My dad has to know; mom never comes out here in the snow. Never came, I mean."

He paused; they'd reached the top of the hill. "Do you think it's wrong to sled here?"

"No," said Rodney.

"My dad's dad gave me flying lessons for my 17th birthday, but I didn't dare ask Mom if I could take them. But I think I will, now that she can't mind. Do you think that's an awful thing for me to be thinking about?"

"I don't know," said Rodney.

"There's another thing she'd freak out about, that I think I'm going to do," said John.

Suddenly he grabbed Rodney and kissed him. It was over in an instant, before Rodney's brain caught on that that was what was happening. Still, there wasn't anything else it could have been. So, yes, a kiss. Now THAT was something to integrate, said the part of Rodney's brain that never shut up.

Then, with a laugh, John grabbed his lid and launched himself down the hill.

* * * THE END * * *

All comments welcome!


End file.
